


Noir

by kethni



Category: The Good Wife (TV)
Genre: F/M, Film Noir, Parody, Request Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:48:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21933247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kethni/pseuds/kethni
Summary: She gave me a real quick look and kept talking. I watched her some. I was getting the best of the deal. There was an amber glint in her hair and her voice sounded like cigarettes and whiskey.
Relationships: Diane Lockhart/Kurt McVeigh
Comments: 10
Kudos: 18





	Noir

**Author's Note:**

> For Anonymous - I know that there are a lot of Kurt/Diane stories so I decided to have some fun with this.

Kurt

I hated the city. It wore its corruption like a bridal gown. The rotting city flaunting the crime, misery, and guilt. It laughed at innocence and justice. Cops had to swallow the rising filth or be washed away by it. The courts were full, and the jails were empty.

Lawyers. They had to invent “ethics” to fill the putrid holes in their souls where the morality had leaked away. Lawyers kept a roof over my head and a bottle of bourbon in my desk. I never met one I didn’t want to drown in a puddle of their own putrefaction.

Except her.

I’d been there before. In those gleaming offices paid for with dirty money by smiling monsters. The men wore three-thousand-dollar suits twice and then threw them away. They spent an hour each morning manicuring five hairs into a moustache and screaming at the valet for not shining their shoes with the _good_ silk cloth. The dames crippled themselves with spike heels, Botox, and lipo. I saw them looking at me as I walked past. Heard the whispers and the laughter. Sure, I wasn’t like them. I had no tie with my shirt and my clothes had to last longer than three sneezes. My shoes were scuffed, and my jacket was chosen for warmth, not fashion. Chicago was a frozen hell in winter, and I didn’t have the luxury of spending all my days in an office designed for beautiful people whose business was separating the rich and evil from their money.

She was taking a call when I was shown into her office. I’d seen her around before, but we’d never met. Dames like that don’t socialise with schlubs like me. She was a little older than I was, but she was wearing her age like a perfume. The whole rotten system tells dames they have to look twenty-five to have any kind of value. I thought she looked like a goddess in a red dress. If she was sent to tempt me then I was ready to fall from heaven.

She gave me a real quick look and kept talking. I watched her some. I was getting the best of the deal. There was an amber glint in her hair and her voice sounded like cigarettes and whiskey.

There was a photograph in a frame. Lawyers love to front how close they are to politicians. Politicians are just criminals with better publicity. I moved a little closer to the picture. She noticed and watched me. Maybe she was waiting for someone to finally call her on the botch job. I could’ve made a better fake with a pot of glue and scissors.

She finally put down the phone. Asked my name. She looked icy but she smiled like she meant it. Laughed at my name. Liberal humour but I didn’t mind. A laugh like a lion purring.

My portfolio was on the desk, but she only glanced at it. More interested in looking at me. She was that kind of dame, more interested in following her gut than the facts. It was a view that too many men and not enough dames had. It had gotten me into trouble too many times. It was getting me into trouble right then. I knew it and I couldn’t bring myself to care.

She asked about the Crown Arrows appeal. The usual question. The usual response to my answer. Lawyers were always shocked. It’s all a big, grimy game to them. There’s no truth. There’s no justice. There’s only winning and losing.

She laughed at the idea that I cared. I’d been laughed at by lawyers before. Some of them I’d answered with a broken nose or a black eye. Not a dame. I never hit a dame. In a dark and dirty world, even I have some lines I won’t cross.

I didn’t want to hit her when she laughed. I wanted to grab her in my arms and kiss her. Kiss her deep and long until we both were breathless.

I tell her that my rates are reasonable. It’s a stupid line to say to a smart dame. Lawyers like these folks don’t care what my rates are. They’re not the ones paying them. Even if they were, it wouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t even put a dent in her shoe budget for the month.

She says I’m like a character out of Melville. Doesn’t say if she’s thinking Ahab or Billy Budd. I’ve been called worse.

Walk to the window. It’s too bright. The sunshine is a rebuke to the dank city. There’s no room for the dirt and the dust to hide from the scorching examination.

She asks why she should hire me. We both already know she’s made up her mind. I turn around. She’s looking at me. Likes what she sees or knows how to fake it. A dame like that can buy twenty of me at the market. Maybe she’s faking well or maybe I just want to believe it. Maybe I want to believe the goddess in the red dress might let me kiss her feet.

I tell her that the case is all about tying her client to the heater. Surprise: it’s not his. I’m not real proud of working against the cops but they make mistakes sometimes. This is one of ‘em. A mistake or a frame job bankrolled by the real killer. It happens. Even cops go to the bad. Especially in Chicago.

She asks what my defence is. Sure, I could tell her. I could leave her satisfied. But a dame like this doesn’t want an easy win. I tell her and she’ll forget my name before I leave her office.

I tell her I don’t like Chicago. She laughs again. It sounds better than before. Asks if I prefer the country. I do. She looks like a dame who likes who nature in the garden or on the dinner plate. Maybe not. Maybe she’s one of those dames who knows how to ride. One who wears jodhpurs and waves around a riding crop.

She’s getting challenging. Playful. Makes a bunch of Timothy McVeigh references. Real cute. She’s charming enough to carry it off. And she knows it.

Walk to the door. She asks if she’s offended me. Genuine flash of anxiety there. I tell her that we’re done. Leave her confused and curious. Dames like that, a schlub like me has to play to his strengths.

Diane

Wow. He was so sexy. Damn.

The End.


End file.
